1500 Miles Along America's Rugged Rooftop

Yellowstones and Tetons

Before entering Yellowstone, we scarfed down breakfast at Running Bear Pancake House, which served us not only tasty hotcakes, but one unbelievably delectable, warm cinnamon roll. "Either of you want that?" Gleason pointed to the gooey center nugget, the most prized piece of any cinnamon roll. Before I could answer, the morsel was forked and halfway to his mouth. Had we been snowed in at Running Bear all day, we would've been OK with that. "Yes, for lunch we'd like three cinnamon rolls with...let's see... ah, yes... a side of three cinnamon rolls."Around Norris, at 7484 feet, we rounded a turn and found a herd of cars, all lined up with tourists sticking cameras out windows. Just as I asked, "What are they looking at?" I got the answer. Bison. Specifically, a very large cow strolling along the roadside with her calf, chomping on vegetation and pausing every once in a while to look up, snort, and then continue eating. A placard we received from a ranger told us that bison can run three times faster than humans and, unsurprisingly, have gored many an ignorant visitor. Plus, this cow weighed well over 1000 pounds, and her calf alone probably tipped the scales at over 200, or about as heavy as the Evora's bonded and riveted aluminum tub. Not wanting to get skewered or flattened, we took our photos and beelined for Canyon Village to see the Yellowstone River plummet 308 feet over Lower Falls.

This trip marked my first visit to Yellowstone, and before reading background info in a AAA TourBook, I had no idea its appellation came from such literal beginnings, named by Native Americans who called the Grand Canyon area of the park the "river of yellow rocks." Standing on a ledge, staring down about 1000 feet to the bottom and across the gap around half a mile to the other side, I felt like an ant. The yellow canyon walls looked as if they had simply absorbed the color of sunlight over the eons, but their maize hue was actually the result of oxidizing iron in the rhyolite.

Making our way to Old Faithful, the park's most famous geyser, we drove beside Yellowstone Lake, which, at 132 square miles, is the largest high-elevation (more than 7000 feet) body of water in North America. With a shoreline blanketed in snow and a surface still mostly frozen over, it also looked like the coldest high-elevation lake in North America. The Evora's outside temperature gauge displayed 39 degrees -- chilly, for sure, but balmy considering the landscape's frigid appearance. Old Faithful's eruptions, which range from 106 to 180 feet in height and expel from 3700 to 8400 gallons of water, have an average interval of 93 minutes. By the time we arrived, the next one was due in 30, so we found ourselves a bench. Finally, nature obliged, and we were treated to a 3-minute aqua extravaganza whose fortuitous timing seemed almost artificial, as if a ranger had simply flipped a switch.

The trip from Yellowstone to Grand Teton National Park was short, the latter situated just a few miles south of its comparably monstrous sibling. Rolling down Highway 89, smack dab between Jenny Lake to the west and the Snake River to the east, I could see the glorious Teton Range out the Evora's passenger window. A picture can tell a thousand words, but this image was saying only one: Wow. Storm clouds were covering the tops of the peaks, the beautiful Tetons wearing a provocative, puffed-white brassiere, but their magnificence was obvious.

After a night in Jackson Hole, we set our sights on Steamboat Springs, some 400 miles away. Through Wyoming, the CDT is as varied as the state's wildlife, presenting hikers with terrain that ranges from prairies and forests to tundra and glaciers and weather that swings from sweltering sunshine and whiteout snow to torrential rain and thunder and lightning. With the Divide paralleling us to the east, we made our way south through Wyoming's cowboy country, evidenced by vast grasslands and an influx of pickups and 10-gallon hats, enduring some heavy thunderstorms, which, along with surging snowmelt, were muddying and swelling the Little Snake and Yampa rivers. Approaching Steamboat Springs, the landscape turned vertical and grandiose, a hint of Colorado's 759 miles of epic, high-elevation CDT glory. To prepare for the miles-high adventure ahead of us, Vance got on his iPad and found the cozy French cafe L'apogee & Harwigs, where we loaded our bellies with lamb sliders, grilled dates, and coq au vin. Imagining what Lewis and Clark would have thought of the iPad gave us a chuckling pause between bites.

Silverton Turns White

From Steamboat, at 6695 feet, we began a lengthy climb up I-40, coming face to face with the Divide at Rabbit Ears Pass (9426 feet) and then Muddy Pass (8772). With 258 lb-ft of torque from its 2GR-FE Toyota V-6, the Evora showed no signs of wheeziness ascending the high-altitude grade. We, on the other hand, got a little winded just looking at the elevation signs. With the town of Kremmling in our rearview mirror, and the jagged, snow-sprinkled Rockies off in the distance, we made our way through the burgs of Silverthorne, Breckenridge, Blue River, Alma, and Fairplay, along the way passing 14,265-foot Mt. Quandary.

Upon entering San Isabel National Forest, we stopped at 11,312-foot Monarch Pass, where the Monarch Crest convenience store afforded us a few sundries, not to mention a couple photo ops of our final CDT crossing in Colorado. Surprisingly, from Monarch Pass to Marshall Pass, the CDT offers relatively easy hiking, though the same can't be said of the stretch's mountain biking. Near Doyleville, we drove along the meandering and fast-flowing Dawson Creek, prompting Gleason to come over the radio. "You guys think we should see if Katie Holmes is a fishing guide?" So, so tempting. As we headed into Montrose, descending from the mountains into a lush valley, the snowstorm vanished, presenting a religious postcard of dark clouds, blue skies, snowcapped mountains, and rays of piercing sunshine.

None of us is particularly religious, but the drive along Highway 550 down into Silverton left us all praying for survival. Imagine a lovely two-lane road that crests at 11,000 feet as it switchbacks through glorious, thickly forested mountains, all the while providing breathtaking views around every cliff-hanging corner. Now imagine that road in pitch-black darkness, covered in ice, with thick snow swirling down in 22-degree pockets, not a soul in sight, and a precarious absence of guard rails to prevent a little Lotus from tumbling thousands of feet to a chilly demise. Per my official CDT guidebook, this section of the trail is described as remote, rugged, confusing, dangerous, and often impassable. Great.

As I tailed the Quest, our two-car convoy cautiously creeping along, I was flooded with flashbacks of the R8 at Crater Lake. It was deja vu all over again. But this time I had come prepared. While I was all white knuckles, the Dunlop winter tires seemed to be all white teeth, smiling from wheel to wheel, elated to have some fun. At around 11 p.m., we rolled into Silverton, an old mining town first settled in 1874, and quickly found three empty beds at the historic Villa Dallavalle Inn (thanks, iPad), which has called itself a grocery store and gift shop during its 111-year history.Eight short hours later, we were up and at 'em, enjoying hotcakes, scrambled eggs, and sausage links prepared by the inn's friendly proprietor. We felt like we were at a summer sleepover camp, the only differences being it was 30 degrees outside and a half-foot of snow had painted the town white.

But a Cayman R would take a much more costly toll for a long trip like this. Why would anyone take a track-tuned car stripped of its coddling features for grand touring?Kiino, I think either you schedule is too busy in the summer, or manufacturers like to torture you by giving you these cars for snow traversing. An adventure, but still torture. Thank you for at least let us know they still work in the white stuff, though.